My mother was the knife

that took it from me.

She wielded it as it had been

     for her and the others. Held


me down as I screamed.

‘Don’t let them do it, Mummy!

Please! Please! Don’t.

Stop it! Mummy! Til 


they stuffed my mouth and 

then my eyes bulging in terror,

continued to torture me.


I screamed at the gags,

at the excruciating pain.

They, ignored my struggles,

knowing full well what they were taking.

They cut and sewed, 

sealing a future for me

where I’d spend my

whole life 






to satisfy men.


Momma !  Stop! Don’t do it!

Momma !  Stop! Don’t do it!

Her scream tore through the

fraying fabric of a life

already lived as a less than.

Evil rose up and the women

carried on, carrying on the devil’s work to

parody a full life given by God 

cut and sculpted by humanity.


Goodness arose and opposed the demon

of mutilating flesh

laws, enforced badly, scarred 

the mother’s destructiveness.

They turned on tiny babies.


The tender, soft cheeked 

mouth searching for sustenance,

too young to scream.

Now tears carving streaks 

on downy baby skin

as they cruelly carved away


her sexuality, and give her 

a life of pain. Curled in on herself,

seeking a protecting womb,

weeping tears that streamed down onto

a blood smeared mattress,

her mouth mewling for

a tiny form mutilated for life.


0800 028 3550the NSPCC is confidential so no one knows who called.